If It's a Dream
by RomaniaBites
Summary: "He's dreaming. He has to be dreaming." Romania and Romano share their first intimate moment in the midst of flowers...and pain. Romania x Romano. Pre WW1.


**If It's a Dream**

He's dreaming.

He _has_ to be dreaming.

Is this really happening? Are these feelings for real?

No…he must be asleep. He'll wake up any second now, wake up to hunger and violence and cold and loss. Wake up to annoying sisters with frying pans and insults at the ready.

But at this moment, he loses himself to the dream.

"Oi! Bastard! Where'd you go?"

"I'm right here," he whispers in reply, closing his eyes as the cool spring breeze caresses his face. It's so nice outside, nicer than it's been all year. The sky is mostly clear, wisps of clouds painting the light blue canvas. The sun is bright, shining, but not uncomfortably warm.

It's _perfect_.

"Hey," a delightfully familiar voice cuts through his thoughts, and his heart quickens when he notes of its close proximity to where he stands. "So, is this the place?"

He opens his eyes and smiles, turning to face his companion. His wonderfully handsome, complicated, fiery companion. "I know it's not as nice as your place, but…it's relaxing."

"Not bad," Italy Romano grunts, eyeing their surroundings with what appears to be indifference. Romania's swallows nervously at this, already self-conscious about his choice of location for their little gathering. He can't compete with what Romano has seen, the places he's taken him in his magnificent sunny homeland. Right now, the best he can do is an empty field with the greenest grass in the country, expanding several miles into the horizon, littered with native flowers.

Dog rose. Pheasant's Eye. Globe Daisy. Just some of the many that surrounds them.

Romania chances another glance at the Italian and his breath catches at the sight of his awestruck eyes. Because now, he_ knows_. Romano never says what he thinks, or thinks about what he says. Those complicated olive orbs, however, tell him all that he need to know. And right now, they're telling him that yes, the field is relaxing. It's also the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. So don't worry, because he _is_ enjoying himself, even if he won't ever say it.

"Is this spot okay, then?" the strawberry blonde questions, motioning feebly to the space before them. Without saying a word, Romano takes the blanket from his clutches and proceeds to lay it out on their patch of grass. It is completely silent between them as they set up their picnic, with just the rustle of leaves and gentle swaying of trees as their music.

Romania tries not to show it, but he is hurting. _Has_ been hurting. Hurting from the fighting, the lack of food, the sufferings of his people. His clothes now cover the many bruises and cuts tracing his pale body. Covers his flawed and sullied skin. Compared to the Renaissance angel that is Romano, he is nothing but a discarded, fallen demon, shunned by the rest of the world.

_Monstrosity._

The pain intensifies, and he bows his head to hide the tears that has sprung into his eyes, the grimace of his lips. He wishes to wake up now, if this really is a dream. He does not want to see the disgust in Romano's face, the inevitable rejection.

He doubts he can recover from _that_ kind of hurt.

"Oi." Romania flinches at the noise, fully expecting it to be followed by some sort of repulsed comment, an excuse to flee.

So he is more than taken aback when a pair of arms pulls him close to a sinfully warm body.

"R-Romano—?"

"I told you to stay at home if you felt like shit," a soft whisper reaches his ears. He can feel the heat radiating from his friend's face, no doubt from the tell-tale blush that he can never seem to help.

"But I'm fine," he replies, further burying himself into that welcoming embrace that has yet to fail to keep him safe and secure. No words can explain his happiness, his unbridled _delight_.

"No, you're not. Listen, I don't care what you say. I'm taking you home right now."

"But—" He can't. He _needs_ him, even for just a few hours! In times like these, Romano's presence is the only thing he can look forward to. He'll gladly endure the pain if it means being together longer.

"I'm not going to leave you, bastard," South Italy chuckles lowly, as if understanding his frightened thoughts. "What am I, a dumbass? Who abandons a sick person?"

His heart swells immediately. "Oh. _Mulţumesc_."

"Tch. _Cu plăcere_."

Romania can't help it; with a pleased shudder, he presses himself even _closer_, until their chests meet and their hearts beat as one. He laughs. "You say it so _beautifully_."

"Sh-shut up!"

Grinning, he looks up into Romano's flushed face and sneaks a hand around to poke at a reddened cheek. "Cute."

"Fuck off," is his grumpy reply, and, instead of recoiling from the harsh words like most would, he grins even more, a small giggle escaping his lips. And then another one. And another. It doesn't take long for him to be in full-on hysterics, his laughter echoing into the distance.

Romano gapes at him for a second before the corners of his own lips curl up slightly, and soon he joins in.

Romania relishes the moment, because really, it is such a rarity.

_To hear South Italy laugh is truly one of the greatest honors there is_, he thinks as he stares, captivated, up into the Italian's amused face. He's smiling, his eyes are closed. So, so pretty…

"_Te iubesc_, Lovino," he blurts out without thinking. Romano stops laughing almost instantly and looks at him incredulously. Face burning in embarrassment, Romania quickly ducks his head.

Stupid-stupid-stupid-_stupid_—

Then, to his complete surprise, a finger gently tilts his chin up, and soon his lips are covered with warmth.

Absolutely _delicious_ and loving_ warmth_.

He's never been kissed before this, never felt this way. Instincts take over and he throws his arms around the other's neck, pulling him impossibly _closer_. Their lips mold together, perfectly, harmonically. It's everything he's always wanted, and everything he's never imagined.

It's his first kiss.

Time passes by without a care in the world, and so do they. The sun soon begins to set, leaving its orange tracks across the sky's canvas. The wind picks up, the cold sets in.

Yet all traces of pain from before are completely gone. Nonexistent.

When they pull back, both breathless and blushing, foreheads pressed together lovingly, Romano squeezes his hand and offers a tiny, hesitant smile.

"_T-ti amo_, Dracul."

There's no doubt in his mind.

He's definitely _not_ dreaming.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Mulţumesc - thank you (Romanian)**

**Cu plăcere - you're welcome (Romanian)**

**Te iubesc - I love you (Romanian)**

**ti amo - I love you (Italian)**


End file.
